Her hair is shiny and bright
by Eskimo82
Summary: Clarke only wanted a haircut and some highlights to refresh the golden tones of her hair. Just about her luck that her hairdresser has managed to fuck it up.
1. No matter how long I look at it, it's no

**Summary** : Clarke only wanted a haircut and some highlights to refresh the golden tones of her hair. Just about her luck that her hairdresser has managed to fuck it up.

* * *

 **Notes** : So this happened because I tricked one of my favourite writers on tumblr into writing a story about Bellamy cutting his hair (which makes Clarke rather unhappy), which is brilliant by the way, so you should totally read it. And then, I had the idea of turning that let's be real Clarke has awesome hair when the writers let her have it.

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 **Chapter 1: No matter how long I look at it, it's not blonde anymore**

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Or: Way to fuck with me, universe

* * *

All Clarke really wanted was a haircut to trim the split ends of her hair; and some highlights, while she's at it to refresh the golden tones of her naturally blonde curls.

Just about her luck that Roan - her trustful hairdresser friend of many years, award-winning hair artist of the county and master hairdresser of the town - has managed to fuck this up.

Well, to be fair, it wasn't him, but one of the newly hired assistants: Cage.

Cage, who's been in charge of mixing hair colours for the day; including her special hair colour mix - a cocktail of fabulous strawberry blonde with golden highlights.

Roan would have done it himself. He always does it for his special circle of friends. It's not exactly his fault that the salon is a little overbooked. The town is hosting the "97th Annual Ark Harvest Festival" and accompanying beauty pageant, which is taking place this week. Roan is simply the best in the county, and they're fully booked in preparation for that. It's also not Roan's fault that she decided last minute about her beauty trip.

Really. She can only blame herself. So, of course, Roan had to outsource certain tasks, like mixing hair colours. Roan is a man with great hair of his own and nimble fingers, but he's not a magician.

Mixing a hair colour is a simple task if you ask her.

Apparently not for everyone.

And that's why she's sitting in a chair, mouth agape, looking at the reflection of a horrified looking beauty with blue eyes and nougat brown locks _and_ golden highlights. Two words ringing in her head on repeat: _You okay?_

* * *

 _Later that night_

It's not like she can back out of this anymore.

Girl night it is, with Raven at _Farm Station_ , the local pub, where their friend - and her roommate - Monty is bartending every Friday night.

She's a little nervous. Brown is not really her colour, but if she dares to say so she's pulling this off. She'd be lying if she said that she hadn't been in shock _before_. Because she was. (But Cage had been unceremoniously fired, and Roan hadn't charged her a cent in the end. On a global scale of things it's a win.)

Raven greets her with an appreciative look and for good measure, she also adds a loud wolf-whistle, so she really _is_ feeling okay.

That is until she meets the chocolate brown eyes of her Art History classmate/ arch nemesis/ bicker buddy on the regular, Bellamy Blake.

Objectively speaking he is an attractive guy but that's not why she cannot stop looking at him.

In all honesty, he looks almost tortured - like someone who's been just kicked in the balls - if that pained expression currently plastered on his face is any telling.

"Is he hurt?" she lets the words slip.

On a second thought … he looks tortured, sure, but this is something else.

There's this fire in his eyes which reminds her of the fire he wears in class and that she loves. If she's being honest that's part of his charm. The fire is there but not the same, not quite. The fire he wears now is … well, it's different.

Raven follows her line of sight and starts to laugh almost instantly.

"Yeah, hurt. Totally, babe."

She doesn't get it, but okay. Raven sometimes _is_ weird. Like the time when she had openly voiced her speculation about her feelings, namely, that Clarke had a thing for Bellamy Blake. In the middle of a Pungu Mayurasana*, nonetheless, which had left her falling on her face, hard. What makes it worse, though… Raven's not exactly wrong, but she's not going to tell her that.

It's nothing more than a tiny crush. Tiny like a pinch of salt. Nothing big. It's mostly a physical attraction. A stupid infatuation for Bellamy Blake and his stupid freckles. And for Bellamy Blake in those stupid flannel shirts she's seen him wearing in class on occasion. (Like the one he's wearing right now.)

She furrows her brows at the sight.

 _Unfairly gorgeous._

She shakes her head, which she hopes Raven doesn't notice on top of things.

This _thing_ is temporary. She needs to get laid, that's all, she reasons, and _this thing_ will go away. Because it's been a while. To be honest, from this angle, his hair looks outright stupid. All messed up and sexy, but stupid.

* * *

 _Meanwhile, at the other end of the pub_

Miller is waiting for his drink order with Bellamy in tow. He's pretty distracted by the smiling bartender on the other side of the counter - an Asian boy with pretty dark eyes and sleek, dark hair falling into said eyes. He has to shove it back with the back of his hand or tilt his head to the side from time to time. Miller watches in silent wonder the movement, and if his eyes settle on the vein running along his neck (or on his arm) he cannot help himself. It's a nice view. It could be weird, but he is single and what's the harm. He's seen the guy here before and they chatted a few times.

The bartender laughs. He swears to all gods in heaven and hell, that's the best smile he's seen in years. A smile that makes him smile.

Something unexpected but not unwelcome is blooming inside his chest; definitely not something he's predicted happening so soon.

The warmth is settling deep into his belly, his heart giving those short but rapid, happy kicks.

He's man enough to recognise the signs of a crush. Why deny it?

And that's when his focus is drawn away from hot bartender guy by a _huff_. It's coming from the man beside him, his best friend, Bellamy Blake. _The loser._

He doesn't have to ask. Not really, he knows exactly what this is about. Regardless, his eyes follow Bellamy's to the other corner of the bar, and hell if he wasn't right. He's looking at Clarke Griffin, or the "fucking Princess" or the "the Princess with the stupid hair", as Bellamy quite often refers to her in his stories.

 _Humor me, universe_ , he thinks.

Because he's willing to eat his beanie, right here and right now if this is not about Bellamy's stupid crush on Clarke Griffin. Or about the very fact that she's dyed her once golden locks to this chestnut-like brown.

"What now?" he asks in his most unimpressed voice.

"Nothing," Bellamy gruffs. But then he must think better of it, seeing his _Humor me, Blake_ expression. So he signals with his chin to the direction of Clarke, who's chatting with a tall brunette.

"Look at that," he huffs.

For anyone else, his tone might sound filled with mockery, especially with the accompanying huff he heaves again. Miller knows him better than anyone else.

"It's Clarke Griffin."

"Tell me something I don't know," Bellamy adds with a grumble.

"She dyed her hair."

"Exactly! How stupid is that?!"

"You mean…. " Miller teases, with (maybe) way too much merriment in his voice. Because as entertaining as it is to watch Bellamy pining after Clarke Griffin, it's way more fun to tease him about it in public. "Stupider than her stupid _Princess hair_?"

"Oh, shut up!" Bellamy says, nudging him with his elbow.

The hot bartender hands over their drink, followed by a wink.

Miller starts laughing, Bellamy grumbles a little more, but all he can really think of is: _What a wonderful night ahead_.

x x x

Not two minutes later, they are on their way, drinks in hand, heading towards _that_ side of the bar. Because he's a good friend.

* * *

XXXXXX

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* _Pungu Mayurasana_ , or the Wounded Peacock is a complicated yoga pose, fya

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XXXXX

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 **End notes** : First time doing a Miller POV. Was it okay?


	2. It's not that hard to admit I was wrong

**Chapter2: It's not that hard to admit "I was wrong before. You were right." Is it?**

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 **Summary** : We start off with a smallish flash-forward. Bellamy POV.

* * *

He's not really sure what just happened. One minute they are arguing about the cultural heritage of the Merovingians and how it influenced artists on the West. The next, he has her pinned up against the bathroom door, in a bar, kissing her senseless, wet and deep. Some could say passionately even, but dirty might be a better word to describe the kiss. He admits that the little gasps she gives between every intake of air drives him wild. He's just a man after all. He is pleasantly buzzed, true. But not too drunk not to remember that he is kissing Clarke Griffin.

There's no logical explanation for what he does next. It's a bold move. He knows that. But he wedges a leg between her thighs so she can grind against it. That is ... if she wants to grind. (She does.)

* * *

The next morning, he's pretty sure the making out was _just_ a dream. The result of having a beer first and a double scotch, neat, after. That and the pent up tension between them (a remainder of their last argument in class) combined with Miller's relentless teasing during the night.

Or the way she looked. That damn hair! Or having those inappropriate daydreams of grabbing her - golden curls fisted in his hands in the heat of an argument in the middle of the class _and_ in the presence of Professor Kane - and pressing his lips to hers to shut her up. _Those dreams are bad_ , and distracting (at inopportune times more often than not).

* * *

Yeah, he could easily think it had been merely a dream. Like all the others before; his mind all but made it up. But the next morning, as he washes away the remnants of the shaving foam from his skin, there it is. A small deep red bruise on the side of his neck. The air is knocked out of his lungs when he sees it. He pokes at it and scrubs on it for a good minute, because maybe it's just a stain. Of ink or red wine. Or something. But there it is a coin sized dark bruise at the crook of his neck, branding his skin like a tattoo.

It all comes back in an instant.

Clarke and her pouty, quivering lips, the beauty mark above those plump, rosy lips are a distracting sight on their own. Looking at her shiny princess hair alone would be bad enough. Dying her hair brown should not have been such a turn on.

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing his fingers against his skin; in an attempt to scrub _this feeling_ , whatever it is away.

It is illogical.

He came to realise, practically a week after meeting Clarke Griffin, that logic does not exist when Clarke is around. He hates her.

Alright, it's a lie. (Miller saw through him from the start.)

He _maybe_ hated her for all of 10 minutes. He doesn't like anyone when meeting them for the first time (Miller and his soon-to-be boyfriend being the rare exceptions) and he dislikes them until they give him a reason not to.

He resented Clarke for being rich and all perfect smile and perfect hair and perfect everything all the damn time. And smart. Infuriatingly so.

And beautiful.

The new hair has ignited something in him, making those underlying feelings so much more potent, and harder to tame. He prefers her sunshine hair, but regardless, he finds her pretty.

 _Fuck_ .

For now, he's going to blame it on Miller and the alcohol.

* * *

Then it happens again two weeks later.

And then again in a week.

When it happens for the fourth time in a row, her hair is almost back to its normal, sunshine colour. He begrudgingly admits that he actually likes Clarke Griffin. As in more than a classmate or Octavia's friend. As in more than platonic.

He takes a deep breath and groans.

After all, it's not the end of the world to admit that he likes her.

* * *

When he tells Miller as much that maybe, _maybe_ "I have been unfairly unjust to Clarke Griffin" and "you were right, she's not _that_ bad," Miller snorts, claps him on the shoulders and gives him the "you don't fool me, Blake" look.

"Oh fuck off," he shoves him playfully and buys him a 6 pack of his favourite beer and a pack of Cheetos the next day.

(Miller was nice enough not to bring up all the numerous occasions he'd had to listen to "but the Princess has said this" or "the Princess has done that".

Well, he does not mention it for all of two days. The beer is long gone by that time, anyway.)

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XXXXX

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 **End notes:** There is a 3rd and 4th chapter coming after this. Maybe, depending on my motivation.


	3. A checkered flannel shirt with cute litt

_**Chapter 3: A checkered flannel shirt with cute little bears**_

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 **Notes** : The timeline is a bit messy (oops) but it will all make sense. We go back in time a bit. Miller and Clarke POV

* * *

"Yo, Blake! Take the party somewhere else!"

Some of these days Miller will develop an ulcer for finding himself in the same situation with Bellamy and the feisty ex-blonde all over again.

"Someone's trying to have a civilised conversation over here!" he shouts and peeks at the new girl who seems to be enjoying the situation - if her huge smile is any telling.

Alright. It _is_ kind of funny.

He takes in the view displayed before them. Bellamy and Clarke standing mere inches from one another. Their chests are heaving, heavy, like having just climbed the fucking Mount Everest.

He'd like to point out to them that they are breathing in the other's breath, or that personal space ceases to exist whenever they do their thing. Quite literally, they are standing a breath away from a kiss.

 _Fools_ , he notes to himself, his mouth tugging into a lopsided grin.

Nothing's new under the sun.

And then again, this time is different. He has company, for one. The brunette in the red bomber jacket introduced herself as Raven, and honestly, he hasn't had so much fun in a while. Because Raven _does_ understand.

Not that his mood is particularly sour today. It never truly is, but he has to keep up some of the pretences, for Bellamy's sake.

He dares to say today he is exceptionally cheery, especially after his last errand to the bar.

So when he went to grab another round of drinks (a scotch for Bellamy because he looks as tense as he's ever been ) - and the cute bartender greeted him with a huge smile - he knew this night was going to be special. In a good way. The bartender is still cute, if not cuter twenty minutes into the night. He's not imagining this. He can't.

So, of course, he left a good tip, but it's not only about the smile. He learned his name was Monty, he was single and he was bartending at Farm Station every Friday night.

Which is why when he returns, with drinks in hand, his mood is exponentially improved.

But if it weren't for Raven, Miller would have pretty much tuned out the bickering couple by now. It's not likely they are going to finish anytime soon, and it's not likely they'd need an outsider's opinion on the French unless it's about cheese.

By the time he returns with the drinks, Raven seems to have given up following the argument; she looks more bored than amused. She raises an eyebrow and signals him to follow her to the booth nearby about to be free.

"Maybe I should introduce myself properly," he says as they go. "I'm Nate. Well, no one calls me that. So Miller is fine." And then: "Or … sass daddy … if you'd like."

"Sass daddy, huh?" she teases and bumps her shoulders to his. "Big words, Sass."

They reach the booth and get seated. "I'll be the judge of that."

He nods and calls out to Bellamy to keep it down a notch.

* * *

They chat for quite a bit and that's how he learns that she ended a relationship recently. He tells her about his heartbreak. He's fine, really. A few months ago it had been still rough, but … he's more hopeful every passing day.

Raven is going to be a cool addition to his friend group, and at times like this, time flies quicker with her around.

In all honesty, he's almost forgotten about Bellamy (and Clarke by extension) until Raven brings them up.

"So what do you think about -" she starts, swirling her hand in the air towards the general direction of the couple.

He snorts. "Right. How long till -" he doesn't finish the sentence, in part because he really doesn't know.

He leans back to look at them.

"No idea," which reminds him…. His eyes fall on the forgotten lowball glass filled with the scotch. A thought occurs to him, picking it up.

"Wanna spice it up?" he asks, wriggling his eyebrows.

* * *

They are in the middle of their heated argument when his gaze flicks to her lips. Which is… _What the hell?_ _WHAT THE HELL?_ _How dare he?_ The guy has literally just told her that her hair looked stupid. Like his stupid flannel shirt with the cute little bears is any better.

"Take it back," she says through gritted teeth.

His response comes easy like a breeze. "Nope," and he smugly smiles at her.

"Take it back!" she takes a step closer.

"I am not taking this one back, _Clarke_."

She seethes. _HOW DARE HE?!_ She leans in closer and pokes him in the chest. "Your hair is stupiderrrr."

They are interrupted by Miller to take it elsewhere, not soon later appearing by their side and shoving a glass of something into Bellamy's hands. It looks like two fingers of scotch by the colour of it.

Raven hands her her own drink. "Here. Take mine, Clarke," and winks. "You look thirsty."

She practically chokes on nothing but air and she's eternally grateful for all those social events that her mother had dragged her to in the past. And even if she feels the blush creeping up her neck to the tips of her ears, she thinks that she relatively quickly recovers.

"Alright," Bellamy says, draining his drink in one go, then grabbing her by the hand. She only realises what he's doing when they are at a secluded corner of the bar.

He halts to a stop and (deliberately?) does not let go of her hand.

"Clarke," he faces her and _oh ohh_ because his voice is all deep and raspy and does certain things to her. It's her weakness. (One of her weaknesses when it comes to him, to be precise, and damn her body because she can already feel the blush climbing up her face, burning her from inside out.)

Each time their eyes meet she feels a new wave of shivers running up and down her spine; so she does what mature women do, and refuses to look at him.

"Clarke," he calls.

She is straining her neck, deliberately not looking at him; her nose up, high in the air.

" _Clarke_ , will you look at me?"

 _Nope, not happening._ She shrugs.

He sighs. "You can't just call someone's hair _stupider_ because they disagree with you."

"HA!", she gasps.

 _It was not exactly about the art debate_ , she adds to herself, but she lets it slide this time.

Instead, slowly, maddeningly slowly, she turns her head. She means to level him with a steely gaze. Her treacherous eyes fall to his lips - exactly the moment he snaps his eyes to her face.

And so begins a weird staring match, eyes shifting back and forth between lips and eyes.

She doesn't know who jumps first. It might have been her. But she's never gonna admit that. She's blaming all this on Bellamy.

Kissing Bellamy? Feels even better than she imagined. (Better than she could have ever imagined.)

* * *

 _Later that night_

She finds Raven after a prolonged bathroom break. (A bathroom break she very much needed so that she could freshen up and make herself look decent again; her hair was a bit of a mess.)

Raven's sitting at a booth, thumbing through her phone. And alone.

No drink and no empty glasses in sight.

Weird.

"Where have you been?" she pipes up when she sees her approaching.

"Umm, bathroom," she says, flushing.

What's the hassle anyway, she's been away for like fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes tops.

Raven doesn't say it but she knows her well. She has her ' _uh huh'_ expression on her face.

She fishes for her phone from her back pocket, just in case, to check.

She's been gone for over an hour.

She. Is. Such. A. Bad. Friend. This was supposed to be a girls night, celebrating Raven for finally dumping _what's-his-name_. And she left her alone… Her. Best. Friend… Well, not alone, but with Bellamy's friend. They seemed to be clicking instantly, and … spending time with Miller couldn't have been that bad?!

She looks around.

Where is him anyway? And where is Bellamy?

Although, on a second thought. She is relieved that Bellamy is gone or out of sight or … maybe he's flirting with someone else.

She shakes the thought away. It's just better this way.

Still. She cannot help the thought that she's never been this thoroughly kissed in her life. Not ever.

 _Nope. Don't think about it_.

She presses her lips into a straight line.

 _You kissed him. No biggie. It's finally out of your system. The mystery of the unknown is not tempting you anymore. You don't have to do it ever again. It's over._

She releases a long shuddering breath.

If only this kiss wasn't the best kiss of her life. THE BEST.

She takes a deep breath.

Raven eyes her for long. If there's something on her mind she doesn't tell.

Some patrons are making a noise, which draws their attention to their table. An upbeat version of _'happy birthday'_ follows; one of the neighbouring tables has a birthday boy in their group and a small cake with candles arrives.

Raven leans in close, takes another good look at her, deep in frown. "I see you two got pretty deep into that thing. Don't let it rule your life. How did it go?"

She shudders, remembering his lips and teeth and tongue on her neck.

She can't answer that question; not without giving anything away. She shrugs, nonchalant.

"But did you win?"

She cocks her head and hopes that her friend will write her flush on the alcohol or on the heat of the pub. "Yeah, Raven," and she tries very hard not to think of what exactly she did for a good hour. As opposed to what Raven thinks. "We could say that."

"That's my girl," Raven says, squeezing her hand.

She. Is. Such. A. Shitty. Friend.

No. She won't let guilt overtake her. Not now. "Thanks for asking. You're a good a friend."

Raven nods, her trademark smile is back so she knows they are alright.

* * *

Soon, Monty joins them on his break, with a victorious smile.

"I have a date!"

She cheers and woots along with Raven, embracing Monty in a tight one-armed hug, but part of her mind is somewhere else. She's under the dimmed lights, her breaths are heavy, fingers digging into thick, fluffy hair. And she hasn't quite yet forgotten those rich, chocolate brown eyes locking into hers from earlier, in the midst of pulling away and clashing together. Not for the rest of the night, and not when she's home and under the covers, safe and warm and fast asleep. Not that she could.

* * *

 **xx xx xx xx**

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 **A/N** : For comments, I'll be eternally grateful.


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